


a crown of gold

by gaydiators



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Social Media, mutual beards, thirst follow au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaydiators/pseuds/gaydiators
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in his room, Sirius makes a series of resentful Google searches:<br/>16:04  “how to take down black enterprises”<br/>16:08 “is it difficult to kill your mother”<br/>16:08 “black enterprises criticism”<br/>16:20 “destroy black enterprises”<br/>16:22 “cool rube goldberg machines”</p><p>----<br/>A condensed list of shit that goes down: Sirius tries to sell out the family business (read: multinational conglomerate) to an activist group, James posts nudes, and they both try to act like they're not thirst following each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 30 June 2014

**Author's Note:**

> aka thirst follow au  
> i don't know how to use ao3 also i gave up on trying to make them sound british so you can pretend everyone lives in england but speaks california english

“Mother’s calling for you, Sirius.” Regulus pokes his head through the doorway to his brother’s bedroom. Though his pose is casual, with one hand resting on the doorjamb and the other on the handle, he’s tensed, ready to shut the door should something should fly towards his head again. Sirius has already tossed a pillow, then a book, then a mug at Regulus the last few times he’s disturbed him.

“Tell her to leave me alone,” says Sirius, barely looking up from where he sits hunched over his desk, scribbling on scrap of paper. His current project lies scattered around the room, blocks of wood toppled over, cans of paint overturned, diagrams haphazardly shoved to a side. Since completing his BS in engineering at Cambridge almost a month ago, he has done absolutely nothing, preferring instead to work towards his goal of being the most useless member of society there ever was. He doesn’t see the point in actually getting a job; his parents would probably be happy about it. Sirius will not stand for that sort of treachery.

“She won’t shut up. Please just go.”

Sirius scowls, but shoves his chair back and moves towards the door anyway. “I haven’t even done anything this time.”

“Maybe that’s why.” Regulus shrugs helplessly, then turns away and walks into the hall. Sirius follows, dragging his feet on the plush carpet away from his room and towards his imminent downfall. His mother, otherwise known as the worst woman in existence also probably from hell, runs the renowned conglomerate Black Enterprises. His father is probably also from hell and also runs Black Enterprises, only he sleeps with more women along the way.

Ever since he can remember, Sirius’s life has revolved around preparing him to one day head the company. The eldest son, Sirius endured a childhood of tutors, training, polishing, his parents chipping away at him like a sculptor with a block of marble. A very obstinate block of marble that causes nightmares for everyone around it. A very obstinate block of marble who now walks towards the dining room to face his mother and suffer through the third rebuke this week.

Sirius reaches the long oak table where his mother sits at the head, hands clasped and facing the window, away from him. “What,” he says by way of greeting.

She doesn’t turn around but just screams. Sirius flinches. The screaming goes on for quite some time, but when Walburga has decided she is done screaming, she twists in her seat to stare her son in the eye. Sirius stares back.

“Do you know what I found this morning?” She is still talking in an uppercase sort of way, each word strained, grating. Walburga doesn’t hold anything in her hand, but Sirius gets the feeling that if she had, she’d be shaking it in his face. “The armchair! Covered in grease!” Sirius doubts the whole armchair was harmed, but humours her nonetheless. “Do you know how expensive those are? How much I have worked to earn the money to buy them?”

“You don’t even—”

“And you! You destroy them! Ungrateful, useless!”

“I thought—”

“Shut up! Shut up! You lie around all day, doing nothing, tinkering with your, your, whatever, like a poor mechanic! Dirtying everything you touch! I didn’t raise you to do this! It’s been three months, Sirius! What are you going to do with your life!”

“You can just buy another armchair.” He faintly remembers using the armchair to prop up a mirror he was using to reflect a laser to slowly burn a hole in a string which would give way to let some blocks fall over and launch a catapult and throw things at whomever opened the door to his room. Sirius tells his mother as much. She doesn’t take it well. The rest of the conversation goes similarly, ending with his nerves slightly frayed and a stronger resolve to do even less of anything productive tomorrow.

Back in his room, Sirius makes a series of resentful Google searches:

> 16:04 “how to take down black enterprises”
> 
> 16:08 “is it difficult to kill your mother”
> 
> 16:08 “black enterprises criticism”
> 
> 16:20 “destroy black enterprises”
> 
> 16:22 “cool rube goldberg machines”

He learns that killing an influential businesswoman is more trouble than it’s worth, that the band OK Go possesses the same fanatic dedication to Rube Goldberg machines as himself, and that he isn’t alone in hating his family. It turns out the Socialist labour union group called the Order of the Phoenix, which Sirius thinks is a stupid name and knows he’s right about that, has an agenda focused on eliminating the politician Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle, the same man whose name is printed on a tacky sign (“YES on Riddle! Purer is BETTER.”) planted in the front yard. Tom Riddle, whose campaign last autumn ran on millions donated by none other than Black Enterprises.

Order of the Phoenix, meet Sirius Black.

Sirius spends the afternoon on various social media platforms to follow the Order, getting into touch with the manager, and trying to seem as non-suspicious as possible while still being the eldest son of the family he’s selling out. At one point, Regulus walks into the room and looks surprised at the lack of anything hitting his face.

“What are you doing?” Regulus glances around for signs of danger.

“Mmm. Tweeting.”

“Is something about to explode?” The younger Black narrows his eyes.

“No. Well—” Sirius hesitates. "I’m about to offer these activists insider knowledge about us.” He sounds casual, but holds himself very still as he waits for his brother’s reaction. “Well, us and Riddle.”

“O—”

“Don’t tell mum. Please,” he adds as an afterthought.

“—kay. You should meet my new plants if you’re done being a dolt.” Regulus steps gingerly over some precariously arranged bottles and out the door.

Sirius doesn’t linger too long on that exchange. Reg doesn’t seem _that_ bothered, so Sirius continues halfheartedly clicking through blogs of Order members as he types out a list of illegal activities undertaken by Black Enterprises within the last year.

One blog in particular catches his eye. Not for any real reason related to the cause but because it’s so astounding in its ugliness. The URL is “jayymespotter” but the title reads “FOOTBALL IS LIFE” with the description similarly disappointing, “james, 22, england. feel free to message me if ur hot ;)”. Sirius rolls his eyes and moves to close the tab but he glimpses, out of the corner of his eye, a set of selfies.

The man in the photographs looks like a complete idiot. He’s missing a shirt but somehow found a wooden sword somewhere to lift into the air like some kiddy sports trophy. Sirius can physically feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment for whoever he is, and yet can’t really find it in himself to be too mean about it. The man just looks so jubilant! He seems so overcome with emotion that his coke-bottle glasses sit crooked atop his nose, black hair tousled like he just got out of bed. How can Sirius deny the stranger this joy? And maybe, if he’s being truthful, a tiny part of him recognises that the man is sort of good-looking, in a weird way. Like if he squints and tilts his head a little and covers one eye. And if Sirius were into dweebish losers, obviously.

He scrolls down to see the owner of these photos and raises his brows in surprise when he finds out it’s "james, 22, england” himself. Don’t judge a blog by its shitty description, he learns that day, amongst other lessons such as Arsenal FC is the best team in the world, James has a girlfriend who is a lesbian, and that it is indeed possible for a 22-year-old man to run a blog entirely about football and dogs.

Suppressing the flare of self-consciousness that rises in his gut, and not before taking a quick glance behind him to make sure Regulus wasn’t judging him from over his shoulder, he quickly clicks the heart to like the selfies. He hesitates, sure that a flush is rising to colour his cheeks. He checks behind him again. And he clicks reblog.

> #grfffcccsshhhvv #sorry

With a solid-sounding thump, Sirius lets his head drop forward onto the desk and groans, loudly and with feeling. What did he do that for! And now he can’t delete the post or edit it because the internet is forever and somebody following him (probably Regulus) will know that he’s weak for dweebish losers who care too much about football.

Because he was raised to be dignified if nothing else, Sirius manages to drag himself back to a sitting position and navigate to James’s ask page and metaphorically burn the metaphoric bridge he’s about to metaphorically cross. He types, “hey. i’m sirius—” before screaming and deleting everything. Trying several more times to little success (“i noticed you were into labr—” “did you fall from heav—” “put on a fucking shirt you heathen or so help me—”) but thankfully less screaming, he finally settles with what he knows best: an inappropriate degree of formality. So he enters:

“Hullo James, 22 years, of England. As you may have noticed, I have liked and reblogged your most recent set of ‘selfies’ to my personal blog. I unfortunately misused the tagging system and regretfully tagged them with the wrong sort of sentiment. Please kindly ignore my misstep and I shall endeavor to prevent these awkward occurrences from happening again in the future. Regretfully, Sirius Black, Esq, Newest Order of the Phoenix Member. Yes, Black as in Black Enterprises.”

Sirius shuts his eyes tightly and clicks the ‘ask’ button before he can succumb to his inborn weaknesses that got him into this trouble in the first place.


	2. 30 June 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter James Potter

The summer sun peeks through the crack in the blinds, drenching the room in warm light, casting soft shadows over planes and corners. Everything is hushed and muted, cracks and windowsills lazy with sleep. Somewhere, a cat yawns.

James feels hateful. He grumbles hatefully low in his throat, bodily flinging himself back under the covers and pulling them tightly over his head. Only a tiny curl of dark hair sticks out. He pops back up to check the time; it’s 4:47. Why! It seems deeply unfair to him that the sun rises so early in the morning when obviously nature should know he’s a light sleeper and deserves more than three hours, especially in the offseason.

There is nothing to do now but face the day, he supposes, since he’s too worked up about the stupid sun to go back to sleep. Maybe he’ll check up on Peter after breakfast and make sure he’s taking care of himself and not overexerting himself to take care of his sister, who fell sick last month. Maybe he’ll call Lily and drag her to the farmer’s market with him. James hums in a pleasantly off-key sort of way to himself as he rises, tugging on his trousers and folding the hems twice; buttoning his shirt but leaving the top two unbuttoned because he is hot but still classy; slipping on his specs; and pulling on his favourite socks, which have small cheese wedges printed on them. He doesn’t even try to bother with his hair.

His phone buzzes from its place on the nightstand and he reaches over to check his messages. It’s a tweet from Lily.

> 5:10 am - @hotter potter hey have you heard who just joined the order
> 
> 5:10 am - @EVANS Do you wake up at 5 everyday or????
> 
> 5:13 am - @hotterpotter new regime

James wonders for a second about Lily’s intense willpower but chalks it up to her incredible and frankly nightmarish dedication to self-improvement, also her tendency to drink a lot of espresso then run a kilo. Which actually happened! More than once! This happened sometime last year during James’s first pre-season with Oxford. He had grown tired of going to the gym alone and suffering on the treadmill so he (regrettably) invited Lily to come. She had just returned from a holiday in New York where she drank 1000 mL of espresso and hadn’t slept for 38 hours. Lily then proceeded to kick his ass on the stationary bikes. Him, a fit and well-groomed young man! Whatever, he'll always have his zumba.

James figures he should actually look out for the news Lily told him about, since she took the time out of her busy 5am schedule to notify him, after all. Pulling out his laptop, he checks the official Order page for any updates. There’s a notification about a new member, which he clicks to find out more. When the page finally loads, he takes in the name and does a double take, takes of his glasses, cleans them, and puts them on again just to make sure he’s really seeing the right name.

Of all people, it’s Sirius Black.

He knows who Sirius Black is, of course, as do most people who have millionaires for parents, but the longer James racks his brain for any hints that Black would join, the more he realises that he really does not know Sirius Black.

But he’ll check out the new guy’s blog, what the hell.

He logs on to tumblr, not expecting much, when he sees a little (1) next to the inbox button. James clicks it and his first thought is that the message is so fucking weird. It’s an apology (?). For reblogging his selfies. What kind of person feels the need to tell someone that they reblogged his selfies and then feel sorry about it? Sirius Black, Esquire, apparently. Well. James supposes he should check what exactly Black did to make him feel so badly about reblogging his photos to actually apologise.

Once on Black’s blog (which shouldn’t even fairly be considered a blog; it’s almost unnavigable in its desire to be as terrible as possible and the entire thing is just a blank white page with a title reading “:(“), he has leave and get on his phone to just see the posts in a legible format. When he does, though, James bursts into laughter.

It’s really not a surprise that the heir of Black Enterprises has never learned how to be cool on the Internet.

While he’s at it, James goes through several more pages of Sirius’s blog. He’s a bit suspicious of the motivations Sirius has to join a group with an agenda that includes taking down his family fortune, but he can admit that Sirius is a rather interesting character. There’s no doubt he’s better than the whole lot of the Blacks combined. From what James can tell, Sirius hates his parents more than most people do, cares more about his brother than he lets on, got an engineering degree from Cambridge (James manages to be a little impressed), is wasting his engineering degree from Cambridge, and harbours a deep and abiding love for motorbikes and Rube Goldberg machines.

Then he starts feeling like a creep and shuts off his phone in a fit of passion.

Remembering that he still hasn’t replied to Sirius’s message yet, James gets back on his computer and sends a response:

> “lol it’s cool dw about it”

Good enough. It’s almost 9 now — he feels a teensy bit guilty for spending so long on Sirius’s blog and not feeding the cat — and he moves to shower and leave for Peter’s but can’t help feeling bad for brushing off Sirius’s long message with just a few words. No matter, he’ll just send Sirius a message welcoming him. It will be relaxed and friendly and polite, obviously, since James is a relaxed and friendly and polite person. He types:

> “also, welcome to the order! i am james. you figured that out already i guess. haha (: well, you seem all right, considering. im glad to have you! i thought that rube goldberg you did with the oil densities was pretty clever, have you tried playing around with the densities of gas? it might give a subtler effect if that’s what you were looking for. see you around on the group! (:”

James physically beams as he types out the smiley face and sends the message without a second thought.

His phone buzzes again, this time a tweet from Peter.

> 9:08 am - @hotterpotter bro do you wanna play xbox today, i got fifa 14
> 
> 9:09 am - @wormz yeah man, i’ll be over in 30?
> 
> 9:09 am - @hotterpotter chill cya

He closes his windows then hops into the shower, singing some Ke$ha classic, all the while he can’t stop being strangely excited to see Sirius’s reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a lot shorter than i expected??


	3. 3 July 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius meets the Order and makes Remus suffer with him.

“Is this a joke?” Remus pauses in his coffee drinking and tries hard not to look judgmental. Sirius can tell, though; it’s in the tilt of the mug covering Remus’s mouth, the arch of his brows, the slight twitch in his left eye. Remus is really bad at not looking judgy.

“No! I really want you to come with me to the first meeting.”

“Don’t you have other friends?”

“Yeah, who? My brother?” Sirius scoffs. Regulus would judge him even harder than Remus is currently, a hard feat to achieve. He is surrounded by negativity, he thinks, and needs better friends. “No, please come. I need your protection as a member of the lower-middle class. They’ll judge me for my richness. You can, I dunno, balance the ticket.”

Remus just stares at him. “What is wrong with you.”

“That’s a yes, right?” Before Remus can object, Sirius reaches over the table pats him on the shoulder, twice. It’s important to foster a strong emotional bond and build up rapport by initiating physical contact, Sirius knows. “Ace. It starts in 20 minutes, so I’ll just wait around here until you’re ready.”

“Sirius!” Remus sets down his mug and looks his friend straight in the eye. His eyes look somewhat wild. “You came into my flat, ate almost all of my croissants, and now we have to leave in 10 minutes?” His voice rises in both pitch and volume, which makes Sirius think he ought to calm down before he gets an aneurysm.

“I’ll pay for the croissants, dear, don’t worry.”

“Why are we still friends.”

“I’m beautiful and intelligent and get you things like invitations to labour union meetings.” Sirius pauses, checking his watch. “We probably should leave now, actually. I want to show up early so they have a good first impression of me, a useful member of society and, coincidentally, the Black family.”

Remus sighs a little, probably mourning the loss of a post-breakfast naptime or something, but moves to put the dishes away. Sirius stands in a corner and fidgets with his cufflinks. The manager, or some higher up — Sirius isn’t too clear on the details — of the group had invited him to a small in-person meeting, ostensibly to welcome him and debrief him on his role for the upcoming months, but he’s not convinced the meeting isn’t to make sure he really is the disgraced elder Black son and not some imposter. Regardless, he’s excited to meet a bunch of Communists, if nothing else. It will be an experience.

While he’s waiting for Remus to change, Sirius pulls out his phone and fiddles with it, randomly opening and closing apps and moving things around. He somehow finds himself on James’s blog. Sirius feels his cheeks heat a little in embarrassment as he remembers the message he sent yesterday. Resolutely refusing to check his messages in case James replied (which would cause any number of drastic reactions), Sirius just keeps scrolling down James’s blog while staring at a spot on the wall and willing himself to stop blushing.

Eventually, Sirius feels calm enough to glance back down at his phone. There are several long posts about a new offseason training regimen James hates, followed by a large compilation of multicoloured dogs (Sirius makes a small face at one of the dogs but quickly catches himself), and then trash talk about a rival team. He reads one of James’s brags about how he successfully tied the laces of his coach’s shoes together, idly scrolling until he sees something that makes him fumble, swear, and drop his phone.

He’s bending down to retrieve the phone from the floor when suddenly Remus appears in front of him. Sirius panics and kicks his phone under the table. He prays to any god that’s out there who cares about him even the slightest amount to make sure that the phone is face down and that Remus does not, _absolutely does not_ , see what’s on the screen. Subtly and like a person who didn’t just kick his phone under a table, Sirius dusts off knees, straightens, and smiles.

Remus is staring at him, concern or something in his eyes. Sirius isn’t really paying attention, more focused on casually stepping between Remus and the table and making himself block as much of the table from sight. It’s hard to do when he’s human-shaped and the table is table-shaped.

Sirius stares back. He knows the importance of not showing his fear.

“I saw that, Sirius. I literally saw you kick your phone under the table,” says Remus.

“No. No, you didn’t. No.” If he says it three times, it’s true and Remus will believe him.

“Anyway.” Remus looks pointedly under the table. “Is it all right if I don’t wear a suit?”

“It should be fine.” Grateful that his friend didn’t push further, Sirius glances down at himself before making a cursory check of his friend’s outfit. Remus wears khakis and a black turtleneck, which is weird because it’s summer, but also less weird because it’s Remus. “I’m just wearing one to intimidate people. Do I look intimidating?”

“Very.”

“Brilliant. Let’s go,” Sirius says brightly. He makes sure Remus has turned the corner before swiftly ducking under the table and picking up his phone, which thankfully was resting face down. The screen is busted, but what’s worse is what’s _still_ being displayed. Sirius curses, and clumsily shoves it into his trouser pocket, feeling the tips of his ears turning pink as he hurriedly runs after Remus.

—

The meeting takes place in the basement of a café. Sirius and Remus have to walk around the block twice before finding the tiny shop, which barely seems to exist as it does, hidden in the shadows behind a larger building and pushed further back from the sidewalk than its surrounding stores.

Inside, the café feels as cramped as it looked. The low ceiling and tight walls pack them in close, the one dusty chandelier in the center of the room casting a low, flickering, yellow light on the tables and chairs. Walking past the lone cashier who doesn’t seem to notice them, they descend the stairs leading to the basement.

Sirius is greeted by a bunch of strangers sitting around a table, all wearing matching looks of disapproval. At the head of the table sits an old man with long white hair and a beard that Sirius deems must be fake. Next to him sits a less-old-but-still-old woman who looks very stern and immediately triggers Sirius’s innate desire to piss her off, which unfortunately conflicts with his self-preservation instincts telling him never to piss her off. The rest of the table is filled with people who look like students, none of them too memorable save for the redhead who’s glaring holes into his face. He quickly looks away.

Straightening up and letting his carefully constructed mask (the one he uses for meeting diplomats and talking to his mother) fall into place, he smiles and says, “Hello, I’m Sirius Black. Apologies for being late, we got lost.” He turns around, grabs Remus by the shoulders, and moves his friend in front of him. “This is Remus Lupin. He’s my friend and he’s a communist.”

Remus accidentally trods on Sirius’s toe. Sirius keeps smiling.

There is a long period of time during which nothing happens and nobody says anything. Sirius keeps smiling. Finally, the old man with the fake beard unclasps his hand to gesture at the empty seat and replies, “Nice to meet you, Sirius. Please, take a seat. Remus, feel free to pull up a chair.”

The tension in the room visibly breaks. People start talking quietly amongst themselves, but as Sirius takes his spot next to the redhead, she turns to him and mutters, “Technically, we’re Socialists.”

Old man with fake beard introduces himself as Albus Dumbledore. He and the scary old woman (Minerva McGonagall) are coordinators for the group, since they need people who aren’t actually students themselves to moderate. Dumbledore explains that the organisation is called the Order of the Phoenix, which Sirius thinks is really terrible but nobody around him seems to think the same. Everyone presents themselves and talks a little about the cause, welcoming Sirius and looking very eager for him to start. He doesn’t know what they expect him to do, though, just start dishing out trade secrets? Sirius notices that nobody introduces themselves as James.

People keep talking at him and Sirius barely even pays attention.

He’s in the middle of wondering why he even has to be at this meeting when they don’t seem to be telling him anything important, and considering just leaving, when someone says his name.

“Sirius.”

Sirius blinks.

“Sirius.”

He looks towards the speaker; it’s the redhead, Lily. Unfortunately, he also has no idea what she just said, so he just says, “Yeah.”

“I was asking you when you think you could submit your first report,” Lily narrows her eyes, looking expectantly at him for an answer that actually made sense.

“I heard,” Sirius insists, even though he did not, “I was just thinking. Tomorrow.” He contemplates asking what the report is about but he figures Remus is listening so he’ll just ask him and save himself the trouble of looking bad.

“Fine. We look forward to it.”

Nothing notable happens after that and the meeting soon finishes, leaving Sirius feeling distinctly annoyed that he had wasted over an hour.

—

On their way back, Remus chats a lot about how much he loves the Order, how its mission to promote a fairer economy is so honorable. Sirius thinks the Order is just all right, but at least it’ll help him get back at his parents. He starts checking his phone as Remus keeps talking, opening Tumblr and looking at his blog, just because his blog is pretty great and happens to be the best blog of all time.

But fuck. Holy shit.

Right there, sitting on the top of his posts, is The Thing, that fucking post. He must have accidentally reblogged it this morning when he dropped it. Sirius visibly gasps. Almost dropping his phone again in his rush to delete it from his blog, he forgets that Remus is walking right next to him and suddenly finds his wrist tightly grasped by one hand and his phone taken away by the other. He didn’t get to finish deleting the post.

“Remus!” Sirius is not even trying to pretend he’s not blushing now. He knows his cheeks are burning and his heart is beating at an alarming rate.

“Oh my God, Sirius, is that?” Remus peers more closely at the cracked screen and starts snickering. Sirius regains control of himself, ashamed of his brief period of weakness, and twists his arm out of his friend’s grasp. He punches Remus in the chest and wrests the phone back. Before anything more terrible can happen, Sirius deletes the post and shuts his phone off out of despair.

“It’s not what you think it is!” Sirius says, hotly and in a very loud voice.

“But it totally is.” Remus is staring at Sirius with something akin to surprise mingled with admiration mixed with extreme judgment. His mouth hangs open. Sirius wants to tell him to shut it or he’ll start catching flies, but somehow knows that he’s at a disadvantage in this situation. “Those were nudes.”

Sirius wants to insist very much that they were not nudes but that would be a lie.

“Shut up! That was my blog. It was an accident.” Immediately, Sirius regrets the admission.

“Your blog?!” Remus sounds even more incredulous than he had before, if possible. “You reblogged nudes?! James Potter with two y’s. Jayymespotter, that’s the URL. Who is that. I demand to know.”

“Shut up!” Sirius is yelling at this point. People on the street are probably staring.

“James Potter with two y’s posted nudes and you reblogged them.” Remus is apparently having trouble understanding this basic concept.

“Shut up! Stop talking!” Sirius clamps his hands over his ears and shuts his eyes so he won’t have to look at this horrible stranger he called a friend.

“Oh my God.” Comprehension dawns on Remus. “That’s why you kicked your phone under the table this morning, isn’t it?”

Sirius turns on his heel and stomps away.


	4. 3 July 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lily suffers

James jogs over to the bench,  reaching for his water bottle and gulping half of it down in one go. And just for good measure, he dumps the other half over his head. The hazy, industrial scent of turf fills his lungs with every heaving breath he takes and he can feel the humid summer heat through his cleats, can see it in the warped air shimmering above the green field. He lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes it across his face.

“James.” A familiar voice calls from the sidelines.

The subject in question turns his head towards the speaker and, seeing who it is, grins and reflexively lifts a hand to muss up his hair. “Lily! Light of my life, fire of my l—”

The redhead just rolls her eyes and cuts him off. “I didn’t know your penalty kicks could get so shitty in the offseason,” she says dryly, crossing her arms.

James, frankly, takes offense. He pulls a face, going for shocked and insulted and disappointed all at once.  “What! Why are you so mean to me all the time?” His mouth flattens into a disgruntled line and he scowls, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t be mean if your passes weren’t so bad.” Lily reaches a hand out and looks like she’s about to pat him comfortingly on the shoulder, but apparently reconsiders and retracts her hand. She makes a face. “You’re also really sweaty and gross.”

“Er. I was just trying to practice my sport in peace, Lily, and was not expecting to be interrupted by you, a nightmare, and to be called ‘sweaty and gross’!”

Lily shoots him a blank stare. “You really forgot.”

“Er.”

“James.”

“Is it— is it— —er. Is it.” He hesitates, and then goes for it all at once because if he’s going to die, maybe dying is a little like ripping off a bandage. “Our anniversary?”

She takes a deep breath and slowly raises her gaze to the sky, as if hoping the meager smattering of clouds hold the answer to all her life’s problems. Not that she even has problems in her life, now that James comes to think of it. After some immeasurable period of time, during which a large number of other possibilities filter through his mind (such as, is it her birthday? is it an Order meeting? is it her cat’s birthday? did the milk expire? is it Dumbledore’s birthday?) and are subsequently dismissed, she lowers her stare back to him and says, “No.” James breathes a sigh of relief. “We aren’t even really dating, Potter. Do you think I’d be mad if you forgot the anniversary to our fake relationship?”

James huffs. “Well, I would have remem—”

“Today’s Poster Day.”

He gasps, probably breathing back in his earlier sigh of relief. He lets it out again but in the form of a long, drawn out, “Shiiiiiiit.”

“Yeah.” Lily looks very smugly at him. “Better get showering. We have maybe 3 hours to finish three hundred posters and avoid imminent death by McGonagall.”

“I would’ve showered already if someone didn’t interrupt me on my way to the lockers just to criticise my technique.”

“You have ten minutes. Those posters won’t make themselves.”

—

It’s been 22 minutes since Lily told him to shower and James is still in the locker room, towel wrapped snugly around his waist and feet clad in Nike slippers, checking his phone. Whatever. He’s done Poster Day for three years now, so he’s kind of an expert and pretty confident in his skills to make several hundred posters by dinner time. Right now he’s more interested in reading the reply from Sirius (whose username is 2321082718? James finds the unintelligibility a little endearing), timestamped 4:05 am. On some level, James is impressed that this man not only misuses the Internet but does so at ungodly hours.

2321082718 says: “Oh wow. You really think I’m a decent sort? And not just for a Black? I’ve never had someone tell me anything like that before. Thank you, I guess.”

He widens his eyes in shock. A split second later, he has formed an inexplicable urge to find Sirius Black and give him a very long hug. It needs to last at least thirty second, he decides. But the message isn’t over. The rest follows:

“And, yes, I am aware of the properties of gas, as someone who has attended primary school. Care to share any other basic science facts?”

James gets a tiny pinch of an unidentifiable feeling in his gut, for whatever reason. Maybe it’s a little bit caused by disappointment that Sirius’s message doesn’t continue to overshare over the internet. He suspects it’s also a little bit caused by the rest of any remaining self-preservation just up and dying on him because now he wants— no, needs— to build a Rube Goldberg like Sirius’s, only better and cooler. He’ll show him who the real basic science facts nerd is.

Before he can reply with his challenge, however, his phone dings with a notification.

> “2321082718 reblogged your photoset.”

He taps the banner and, wow. It’s his most recent set of nudes,  which tells James that 1) he’s really gorgeous, truly. When did he get so handsome? Lily should be lucky she has such an attractive guy be her beard. His cat should be lucky his owner is so good-looking.

And 2) Sirius reblogged his nudes.

James takes another look at Sirius’s stupid, terrible username above photos of his own naked body and covers his mouth and screams.

—

Somehow, he manages to get dressed and make it back outside to Lily. He mostly keeps it together on the metro with his phone jammed firmly in his pocket and his brain forcing itself to repeat Ke$ha lyrics instead of processing any of what happened.

When they finally reach Lily’s flat, James rushes for the poster supplies but is held back by Lily’s firm grip on his wrist. He freezes, startled.

“Did something happen?” She looks askance at him, suspicious probably. James doesn’t fault her; he’d be pretty suspicious if his usually chatty friend didn’t say a single word on the train ride afterward.

“Er.” He’s at a loss for words.

“I heard you scream in the locker room? Was there a spider or something?”

Normally, James would feel put out at the implications that he, an Oxford fourth-year and star midfielder, cannot handle arachnids, but his brain doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about functioning normally right now. “Well, yes. And no.”

“Yes and no there was a spider?” Lily seems even more suspicious than before, and maybe a little concerned.

“Yes and no something happened.” He frees himself from her grasp and moves to get the poster supplies. “It’s a long story.”

“Well. Start telling it. We have a lot of posters to make.”

—

They’re still sitting on the floor of Lily’s apartment several hours later, James dutifully cutting construction paper while Lily glues. Poster Day, which is literally what it sounds like, requires immense dedication. Mostly because the Order can’t afford to print so many posters to raise awareness for their events, requiring all their members to hand make a ridiculous number.

“Let me get this right,” Lily starts, pointing a glue stick dangerously close to James’s nose. “You posted naked photos of yourself on your public blog, on the internet, where anyone could see them?”

James wants to scream. He imagines he looks very frightening right now, with glitter clumps in his hair and brandishing scissors in the air. “I knew it! I knew that would be your only takeaway!” He glances around to estimate the number of posters they’ve made. Two hundred ish. “Two hundred ish posters later, and the only thing you remember is that I posted nudes.”

“To be fair, you spent a long time talking about finding out that Black reblogged your naked pics.”

“Well, he did.”

Lily purses her lips, unconvinced. Gingerly setting her gluestick down and moving their current poster aside, she holds her clean, paint-free hand out. “Phone. Show me. I don’t believe it.”

He smugs. Reaching into his pocket, he unlocks his phone and opens Tumblr, expecting it to open to his last page, which was Sirius’s reblog. Page not found.

James’s smirk drops. Frantically, he refreshes the notifications on his photoset, only to see that Sirius’s reblog has disappeared. “Jesus.”

“Something wrong, James?”

“It was there a couple hours ago, I swear.”

“What?”

“The reblog. He must have deleted it! Oh nooooo...” He trails off, thinking unhappily about what could have caused this tragic heartbreak. Maybe Sirius didn’t want to be friends anymore.

“Well. It’s for the best, y’know. Perhaps you should stay away from strangers on the internet?”

He fixes Lily with a disbelieving glare. “Can’t you tell I’m grieving right now?”

“Oh, yes. Very much. My apologies.” She stifles a laugh and rolls her eyes, reaching over the sticky, glue-covered poster to pat him on the knee.

“I think I ought to take a leave of absence due to emotional damage. Think you can finish the posters on your own?” James solemnly tucks his phone back into his pocket and leans backwards until he’s just lying flat on the floor of Lily’s living room, staring at her white ceiling. He crosses his hands over his chest.

“Get up, you dolt. I’m sure your little awkward internet courtship will be fine.”

James rolls over and groans into the carpet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter I have fully written so the next ones might take a while


	5. 4 July 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sirius is overwhelmed by james's jamesness, and regulus finds this funny somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> formatting notes:  
> before the "-" of a tweet is the information (timestamp, person sending it, etc)  
> after the "-" is the actual content of the tweet (which may include an @ to direct it to someone)

Sirius spends the next day convincing Regulus to make a blog and avoiding his parents, which are the same thing in the end, really. He’s sprawled out on top of his brother’s perfectly made bed, arms crossed behind his head, one foot lazily prodding the small Regulus’s back. From the Black Enterprises motto and logo painted meticulously above the headboard to the heavy silver and green drapery, Regulus’s room seems unmistakably Black. He can’t tell if what he feels about this decor is a tinge of annoyance or concern.

“I dunno. What would I even blog about?” Black the Younger asks, perched on the edge of his bed, kicking his feet.

Sirius isn’t aware that blogs have to be about anything in particular. What is his own blog even about? He furrows his brows and regards his brother with slight dismay. “Nothing. Anything? Don’t you enjoy, I dunno, watering your cacti?”

“Succulents don’t need to be watered, Sirius.”

“How ungrateful of them.”

"You would know."

"Come on, Reg. Think of it, a blog!"

Regulus hums noncommittally for a few moments before responding, “All right, I will.”

Sirius’s head pops up in surprise. “You will! Bril—”

“Who’s James, though?”

Sirius freezes, and drops his head back onto the bed with a muffled thump. A small bubble of panic rises in his chest as he tries to recall anything that he might have told Regulus about James—surely he’s been careful about omitting any names when he talks about the Order. Slowly, and trying not to sound like he definitely knows who Regulus is talking about, he says, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Regulus just turns to face him and rolls his eyes, gesturing at Sirius’s phone on the nightstand, which is lighting up every few seconds with Twitter notifications from “James P @hotterpotter”.

“Oh. Him.” Sirius blushes, and he knows it and it’s terrible that his body would betray him like this.

“Well, also, you did mention him to me before. Yesterday you were all worked up and I asked you why and you said James probably thinks you’re a huge weirdo.” Regulus considers his brother for a moment. “Which is true, you are a huge weirdo.”

Sirius scowls and makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.  “Whatever, Reg, just make a blog.” He just really needs to start interacting with interesting people on the internet who aren’t named James Potter.

“Sure, Mr. James Potter.” Regulus raises his hands in surrender, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “I’ll do it while you check your phone; you look like you’re going to explode if you don’t do it right now.”

As Regulus hops off the bed to turn his laptop on, Sirius reaches for his phone. He tries not to lunge for it in too obvious of a manner, but in all honesty, he does and he has no self-control and it’s awful. He wonders for a few seconds how James even found his Twitter, but he chalks it up to the Order of the Phoenix’s directory. It’s probably a blessing that he won’t need to exercise his superb (read: dreadful) social skills on Tumblr for the time being. Unlocking his phone with a swipe, he takes in James’s series of  tweets directed at him:

> 3m - @2321082718 hello sirius!! it’s me james. lily (i think you met her?) wants me to tell you that we use twitter for quickly organising protests and events and stuff
> 
> 3m - @2321082718 our hashtag is #OrderOfThePhoenix so if you want to to broadcast a message, that’s the one to use (:

Sirius’s stomach goes through a series of various flips. At first, he’s slightly pleased that James tweeted at him and used the “(:” smiley; it’s just so pleasant and content that his gaze pauses on the smiley face for a few seconds. He allows himself to bask in the glow of the smiley face before it hits him like a semi truck that James likely felt genuinely glad to deliver this information to Sirius, a near stranger who’s done nothing but be weird about him. He doesn’t know when he last felt happy enough to use the “(:” smiley, if ever. And then, like another semi truck hitting him while he’s already reeling from the first one, Sirius realises that he doesn’t know anybody who would be this joyful about anything. It’s rather depressing.

Although he has his flaws,  Sirius is far from being un self-aware, and at this moment, he’s very aware that he just made himself sad over a smiley face. He glances surreptitiously towards Regulus, sitting peacefully at his desk and  blissfully unaware of his older brother’s inner turmoil, then breathes a quiet sigh of relief that nobody witnessed his brief freak out.

Turning back to his phone, he reads the most recent tweet:

> 2m - @2321082718 btdubz plz follow me back so i can send you a message. i need to ask you something and it’s kinda private but important. (don’t worry it’s not bad!!!!)

This is worrying, obviously. But Sirius is nothing if not self-destructive, so he resigns himself to his fate, tapping the follow button and sending James a message.

> @2321082718 11:25 am - Hello. Thank you for catching me up. Did you want to ask something?

He hits “send” before his brain can trick itself into shutting down, then shuts his eyes, flings an arm over his face, and barely manages to restrain himself from tossing his phone in the wastebasket.

“I wish you could see yourself right now.”

Sirius’s eyes fly open at the sound of his brother’s voice, so distracted by James that he forgot that Regulus was in the room. “What.”

“Hah. Nevermind.”  Regulus’s voice is tinged with barely suppressed laughter. “I made a blog, if you care about that anymore.”

“I do!” says Sirius, vehement. “I’m just waiting for a response. From James. Really, Reg, I’m excited to—” He stops in the middle of his reassurance to unlock his phone, which has just lit up with a message from James.

> @hotterpotter 11:28 am - o yah np (:
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:28 am - and yess i was just curious, plz dont answer if im overstepping and im not accusing u of anything, but why do u give a shit about the order?
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:28 am - that sounded mean i didnt mean it like that!!! i meant ur interests dont seem to match the order’s and i want to make sure nobody gets hurt

Sirius doesn’t really know what he expected. He supposes it’s too much to expect that nobody questions him about his family, ever, but it could be worse: Lily could be the one asking him this. Come to think of it, how does he know she isn’t?

> @2321082718 11:30 am - Did Lily put you up to this?
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:30 am - oh nooo she’d kill me if she thought i was hazing newcomers. cross my heart it’s just me being nosy. sorry i asked.
> 
> @2321082718 11:33 am - I was just checking. She seemed to think I was some great capitalistic evil the first time we met. Which I could be.
> 
> @2321082718 11:33 am - Long story short: My enemy’s enemy is my friend.
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:34 am - :D so my instincts were right! ur not so bad after all

Sirius nearly drops his phone when he receives this message. He can feel a smile stretch across his cheeks, and in all honesty, he shouldn’t be this pleased by a non-compliment given by a near-stranger. James probably says this to every prodigal son he meets on the Internet.

> @2321082718 11:34 am - Thanks? My parents just hate us a lot, that’s all. And I figured it would be nice if I got back at them.
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:34 am - “us”?
> 
> @2321082718 11:34 am - I have a brother, Regulus. Our family may be the bane of our existence but at least we’re winning in the Pretentious Name department.
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:35 am - haha
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:35 am - i like ur name, sirius. regulus too.

He probably screams or makes some high frequency noise in the back of his throat, because Regulus stops typing for a moment. Sirius looks over and says weakly, “I’m fine.” Nobody is convinced.

But his phone lights up again and Regulus doesn’t get a chance to berate him for anything unconscionable, James-related or otherwise.

> @hotterpotter 11:36 am - also ur twitter handle is 2321082718 too?! the exact same numbers as ur url?!! why. not that i mind, it’s just hard to remember.
> 
> @2321082718 11:36 am - Why change perfection?
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:36 am - i hope u know im rolling my eyes at u ;) what’s ur snapchat so i can send u snaps of me rolling my eyes.

Sirius can’t breathe for a moment and he doesn’t know if it’s because James “@hotterpotter” Potter is sending him direct messages on twitter with a winky face and a solicitation for his Snapchat in the same sentence, or if it’s because he doesn’t have a Snapchat account, or if it’s because he realises that he doesn’t feel as opposed to the idea of getting snaps of James's eyes as he should be.

> @2321082718 11:37 am - I don’t have a Snapchat. But I could make one, if you’re so inclined to send me snaps of you rolling your eyes.
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:38 am - that’s always been a dream of mine, to share sexy snapchats of my rolling eyes
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:38 am - don’t make one on my account tho
> 
> @hotterpotter 11:39 am - you just seem like you need a friend, is all.

Sirius doesn’t have time to be offended by those implications because he actually drops his phone for real this time. It clatters ominously on the hardwood floor, which he feels is appropriate as a symbol for his life lately. Across the room, Regulus snickers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me forever and i'm sorry if it's paced kind of slowly? idk how to drag this on for the right amount of time. next chapter: actual interactions between sirius and james? these past chapters have just been setup which has been. awkward.

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from Brand New's "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot"


End file.
